


The Love We Feel

by arnyeka



Category: overwatch
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, first meeting AU, fluff (probably when i actually write more), theyre in love, torb76
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arnyeka/pseuds/arnyeka
Summary: torb and jack's first meeting...





	The Love We Feel

The smell of gunpowder caressed Jack Morrison’s nose as he strode into an empty workshop.

He had been sent by the Overwatch top brass to recruit an expert craftsman - the craft being the construction of powerful turrets. Jack knew little of the man he was tasked with finding, only that he was Swedish, and had a foul mouth. 

And, it seemed, a devotion to his craft.

Not only was this man building enough turrets to outfit an entire army base, he also had the machinery to design and manufacture any weapon he might want - right at the touch of his fingertips. Jack couldn’t help but be impressed, a difficult feat.

Yes, this kind of technology would greatly benefit the Omnic Crisis. If only the man behind it could be located.

Jack had travelled cross country to find the Swede, but to no avail. Indeed, this was the last of many workshops that Overwatch had suggested his location might be. And yet as Jack scanned the large room, he could not see any sign that someone had touched anything for a long, long time.

He might have given up, might have returned to HQ and refused to chase another lead, if it werent for that smell of gunpowder that has assaulted his nostrils as he entered the building.

Someone had been here recently, and were very good at covering their tracks, that scent being their only downfall. Jack had always had a strong nose, and as his senses grew accustomed to the smell, he noticed something underneath it. A strong musk that was undeniably male.

Jack froze at the scent. His mouth dried, and his arms began to shake as a fire coursed through his blood. All thoughts left his mind as he was enveloped by it. It rolled over him like thick, dark clouds preparing for a storm. The smell broke and remade him over and over, until Jack lost all sense of time. It was an aphrodisiac, and Jack greedily drank from it until his entire body was taut with need. 

Movement from within the room jolted Jack from his dreamlike state. Hands on his weapons, Jack whirled towards the noise.

Before him was the most beautiful Swede he had ever seen.

Jack’s breath caught, and, for the second time that day, he froze. The man before him was short, but instantly commanded the attention of the room. In contrast with his stature, his limbs seemed powerful, and the muscles of his biceps rippled as his arms crossed against his wide chest, his right hand curling into a fist. His left hand, however, ended with a large, menacing claw. No doubt lost during the war.

This had to be the person he was sent to find.  
His hair was a golden blonde - like Jack’s. Though little could be seen of what was atop his head, due to a large safety mask which had been pulled away from his face, the man’s long beard looked it was spun by Heaven itself. It hang like a golden wreath from his chin, and some of the glorious strands blew in a soft breeze that had been begun the moment the man had entered the room. 

Jack swallowed, and finally looked into the small, beady eyes of the Swede. Or rather, eye, as his right one was covered by a large red patch.  
God, Jack could stare into that eye for an eternity.

The man shifted slightly, and the dim light caught his eye as he stared back at Jack. A pool of emotion rushed into Jack’s stomach as he watched the swirling depths of that eye change with each second. It was a crime, really, for something to be so captivating.

“Änd whö mïght ÿöü bë, tö hävë ëntërëd mÿ šëcürë wörkšhöp wïthöüt dëtëctïön?” The Swede’s voice struck him to the core. Jack could actually feel its roughness acting as sandpaper on the edges around his heart. And the accent, God, that accent - it was like the lullaby his parents had sung to him as a child, touching the deepest parts of him in an indescribable way.

Jack closed his eyes, swallowing again, before responding, “I - I was sent by an organisation dedicated to winning the war with the Omnics.” Jack cursed himself for the hoarseness in his voice, but how could he be expected to speak when his world had just been shattered by the man in front of him?

Jack watched the man’s bushy eyebrows raise, and his expression turn thoughtful as he seemed to ponder something for a second before turning away. Jack’s heart skipped a beat as the man began to leave the room.

“Wait!” Jack said, running to him and grasping that thick, hard arm, “What is your response?”  
The man eyed Jack’s arm before saying, “Ÿöü’vë gïvën më nö ïnförmätïön. Dö ÿöü täkë më för ä fööl, tö blïndlÿ trüšt öthërš?” His eye swept up to met Jack’s gaze, and the impact of this tiny mans stare burned through him like the sun.

“At - at least tell me your name.” Jack held his breath. Even if the man was going to leave, he needed to know this much. The mans scent was already committed to memory, but his name, God, his name, Jack would cherish it for as long as he lived.

The man seemed to consider something, probably the dangers - if there were any - of telling Jack. A slow, shit eating grin, spread across his face as he held Jack’s gaze.

“Tëll më ÿöürš fïršt, gïänt män.”

Jack jolted slightly. His name should not be given out freely, he had been told, as it could be used against Overwatch. But to learn this mans name? Jack would give anything and everything. He licked his lips and said huskily, “Jack. Jack Morrison.”

“Jack Morrison,” the Swede murmured, his accent thick, sensual. Jack's eyebrows rose up slightly, but he continued, “Dönt ÿöü thïnk šömëthïng lïkë Jæck mïght šüït ÿöü wëll?”

Jack’s knees threatened to fail him as that nickname echoed in his ears. Jæck…the man's voice had wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

“I…you promised me your name,” Jack said, his teeth gritted. His control was slipping, and it had only taken this man a few words. If Jack didn't learn his name soon…

With the way the day had turned, he could not predict the fallout. Jack was a honed warrior, with quick reflexes and a large amount of stamina, making an efficient combination, something Overwatch had desperately needed.

And now all that training of his, all the potential could go to waste, if he couldn't learn this captivating man’s name.

“Ï dö nöt rëcäll mäkïng änÿ kïnd öf prömïšë tö tëll ÿöü mÿ öwn.”

A sudden roaring blasted Jack’s ears as he stared down the tiny man, and the grip he had on his arm went slack. The man's grin turned into a sly smile, and before Jack could react, he was pulled down by the collar to the man's ear.

“Ï wïll tëll ÿöü,” Despite himself, Jack savoured the warm breath tickling his ear, “Thät Ï dö nöt täkë kïndlÿ tö ïntrüdërš, Jæck.”

Jack couldn't help it. He licked his lips. Something about this tiny man struck him deep, right to the core, as though the Swede’s giant meaty claw was gouging a hole in him and filling him with...something. Perhaps he knew what, but it was a word Jack couldn't admit, not even in his mind.

Deep in thought, Jack didn't notice that the Dwarf’s had reached toward him until he felt the cool caress of thick metal against his side. The claw, oh God, the claw.

Jack’s blood heated as he silently studied it. It was thick and strong - like it was made of the highest class steel. Only the best for such a...Swede, he thought. 

The things this claw could do, at the right time, in the right moment...the right position. Jack’s blood began to boil at the thought. His eyes drifted back to the still as yet unnamed Swede...and caught that tiny eye dart from his chest back to his face. All of Jack's instincts, which had failed him before, now latched onto that look. 

With predatory focus, he examined the small man's eye, which was now avoiding his gaze, the faint colour deepening his ruddy cheeks. The banana-shaped lips.

With no small amount of satisfaction, the corners of Jack’s mouth tugged upwards. “Your name,” he rasped, “Give me your name.”

The tiny, tiny man finally met Jack’s eyes and whispered a word that clanged through Jack so painfully he almost released his grip. The name was an awakening, a true rebirth, and the beginning of something unknown.  
“Torbjörn.”

Jack was in deep, deep shit.


End file.
